The First Book I Ever Checked Out of a Library
Formative experiences with the humanities have the power to shape our lives, returning to us again and again, to intrigue and inspire. And, from the distance provided by age, experience, and deeper knowledge we sometimes come to appreciate those subjects — for instance the life of a remarkable woman like Joan of Arc — in new and more meaningful ways that continue to challenge and fascinate.
<p>In this video, Joan Hinde Stewart recalls the first book she ever checked out of a library — a biography of Joan of Arc — a memory triggered by an experience in her sixties. She describes the fascination she felt about Joan of Arc from an early age and the conflict she felt about reading this biography, as it was unsanctioned by the Catholic church.</p>
<p>As she notes, however, “I became positively besotted with The Maid of Orleans. I could do nothing but think about Joan. That’s the way she is. She grabs you, and no matter how well you know the story you keep hoping — I keep hoping — that it will turn out differently.”</p>
A biography of Joan of Arc
Joan Hinde Stewart, President Emerita, Hamilton College
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Spreading the Love of Libraries
Librarian Deborah Jung describes the moment she discovered libraries and the riches they offer, which fueled her passion for opening the world of literature to children.
For Jung, finding a library as a child was like “going to heaven.” The beauty of Madeleine L’Engle’s writing introduced her to the world of science fiction, a genre that thematizes acceptance, empathy, and humanity. More recently, as a reader, Jung has turned to literature about immigration. As a school librarian, she strives to choose books—especially those that feature African American and Hispanic characters—in which students may see reflections of themselves.
<em>A Wrinkle in Time</em> by Madeleine L'Engle
Deborah Jung, Charlotte-Mecklenburg School District
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Writing is My Activism
<p>Luis Rodriguez, Poet Laureate of Los Angeles in 2014, explains how his love for books and libraries rescued him from a life of trouble. He notes that through books, he discovered more about people and their lives, which encouraged his interest in writing about injustice and activism.</p>
<p>To celebrate its 40th year anniversary of grant making, programming, and partnerships that connect Californians to each other, California Humanities invited a group of 40 prominent Californians to explore what the humanities mean to them. For more information visit <a href="http://calhum.org/about/we-are-the-humanities" title="California Humanities: We Are the Humanities" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">California Humanities: We Are the Humanities</a>.</p>
California Humanities
Luis Rodriguez, Poet Laureate of Los Angeles in 2014
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/static?template=terms">Standard YouTube License</a>
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The Second Shelf and Beyond
In elementary school, Kathryn Hill itched to move beyond the first shelf of the library books. When she finally reached the second shelf, a new world awaited her: biographies of historical figures. The lives of women such as Harriet Beecher Stowe, Harriet Tubman, and Dorothea Dix led her to understand that history was all about stories. She realized that her own life “needed to be about something”—and that it could be.
Biographies of historical figures such as Harriet Tubman and Dorothea Dix
Kathryn Hill, President, The Levine Museum of the New South
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Why I Read YA
<p>I was born and grew up in rural Southern Appalachia. Books and stories were my pathway out of the holler and into a world of hope and possibility. As a child and teen, I read and listened voraciously, and those stories found in books helped to save my life. Without them, I am not sure where I would be right now. During my early years as an adult, I searched for a career that would pair my enthusiasm for literacy and literature with my profession. I finally found that perfect match as a librarian.</p>
<p>As a middle school librarian, I fell in love with Young Adult literature, books written for teens between the ages of 13 and 18. When I am asked why I seldom read “adult” books, I respond that I believe that some of the best books—both fiction and non-fiction—written today are being published for teenagers. In my defense, I am quick to cite numerous studies that indicate between 48–52% of the YA books being checked out at public libraries and purchased in book stores or online are to readers over the age of 24, in other words, readers like myself. What does that tell us? That these books written for teens possess value and quality for people of all ages.</p>
<p>In 2017, I had the opportunity to serve on the Michael L. Printz Award committee for the American Library Association. This prestigious award is administered by the Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA) and sponsored by Booklist. The winner and honors must exemplify literary excellence in young adult literature. Over the course of 12 months, I worked with a committee of eight other librarians from across the US. As a committee, we read hundreds of novels, biographies, and non-fiction titles written for teens. We convened online and in person, wrote about the books we had read, and in February of 2018 met in Denver to decide which titles we would select for the Printz Award. After two days of intense debates, we chose diverse five titles. The committee selected <em>We Are Okay</em> by Nina LaCour as the winner of 2018 Printz Medal and recognized four books with Printz Honors: <em>The Hate U Give</em> by Angie Thomas, <em>Long Way Down</em> by Jason Reynolds, <em>Vincent and Theo</em> by Deborah Heiligman, and <em>Stranger the Dreamer</em> by Laini Taylor.</p>
<p>As the awards were being announced at the ALA conference on February 5, I sat in a packed auditorium as tears rolled down my face. And why is this my Humanities Moment? Because this moment validates what I have always felt about YA literature. My experience on the Printz Committee and the five books we selected affirm two of my core beliefs—that some of the best books being written today are being published for teens and that anyone, young or old, can find beauty and meaning in the pages of YA. As a middle school librarian, I remind myself that I have the power to hand a student the right book at the right time in his or her life, a story that might change a life forever. And that is the power of literacy for teens….showing young readers a pathway to the future and inspiring them with hope and promise.</p>
February 5, 2018
Scot Smith, 53, school librarian
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The Power Public Knowledge has for the Humanities
I grew up an hour and a half northwest of San Antonio, Texas in a small, rural town called Medina. Medina is home to one school (K-12 campus), about five stop signs, one gas station, two restaurants, and three churches. When I was younger, the town had a population of about three hundred people, while others lived ‘out of town’ on ranches, plots of land, or small trailer park communities. The school district, which spans approximately sixty miles of rural land in each direction, has anywhere between two hundred and fifty students to three hundred students (K-12).
The school had a football field, one un-air-conditioned gym, a bus barn/weight room, two halls for high school classes, one hall for junior high classes, and another for elementary school classes. The cafeteria, library, and work out facilities were shared by all. The school library had one room for elementary students, one room for junior high students, and about six shelves for high school students. Needless to say, the library, despite their best efforts, was woefully lacking. Outside of the school library, the closest library was a forty-minute drive and one town over. However, because we were not residents of that county, we were unable to check books out. Medina was, among other things, book-poor.
This changed in 2001 when a group of community members came together and raised the funds to build the Medina Community Library. The library had computers for those who otherwise wouldn’t have access to the internet, which was still largely unavailable in rural areas or was so outrageously expensive as to be unavailable, it had movies so people wouldn’t have to drive forty minutes to the Blockbuster a town over, and they had twice as many books as the school library.
Texas has an interesting history when it comes to public libraries, especially considering the state’s general aversion to public, non-commercial spaces (consider the lack of public land, public transport, and bikeable/ walkable spaces in Texas cities compared to other states and cities of similar populations and demographics). The frontier mindset of Texas influenced the prioritization of the accumulation of wealth while deprioritizing that which was not deemed essential to accumulating that wealth, such as non-commercial spaces for the public and acquiring non-technical knowledge (like the humanities). Consider, for instance, that Harvard University was founded some sixteen years after the Puritans landed at Plymouth Rock, but it took eighty years before Texas’s first public library[1] was founded.[2] While there are many other factors as to why the humanities have been decentralized and deprioritized (the frontier mindset is not the only factor by any means), I do think that the frontier mindset certainly contributed to the disparity of public libraries in the region I grew up (Notably, Medina’s county seat is nicknamed the Cowboy Capital of the World and it is not uncommon to see someone order a Cherry Limeade on horseback from the local Sonic Drive-In).
When the Medina Public Library opened I was finally given easy access to literature. My mother began volunteering at the library once a week after she got off work from her full-time job. These days I would wander the stacks choosing books I was interested in. I would sit on the floor and read for hours while my mom worked. Often when we think of a moment that inspired us to pursue the work we do in the humanities, we think of a book, a series, an author, an artifact, or a place with historical or religious significance. I have no singular thing that revealed to me the importance of the humanities. Instead, my humanities moment was the gift of public knowledge. The Medina Public Library, while it is still woefully inadequate compared to many other public libraries, was a democratic endeavor to provide my community with equal access to knowledge about other places, worlds, people, and experiences beyond our county. Instead of forefronting economic production, as the frontier mindset would mandate, the library instead fostered the circulation of knowledge and equitable community care.
[1] This is a debated topic. There are three different public libraries that lay claim to this title, but all claim their opening around the 1900s.
[2] See Texas Land Ethics by Pete A.Y. Gunter and Max Oelschlaeger (25-6).
Public Library
Childhood
Chaney Hill, 25, PhD Graduate student in English, Literature at Rice University
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The Library
Growing up outside Atlanta, Georgia, my dad and I would spend hours at the local library, requesting and checking out the full limit of books allowed. We often had to ask forgiveness for misplacing many books. Fast forward to summer 2020:
Last summer will forever be imprinted in the collective memory. After the lockdown from COVID-19, my university library unlocked its doors once again. I was brought back to a place that can transport us anywhere- through all the multitude of resources within those bounds. The library is an amazing place that provided/s comfort in a troubled time; I remembered a childhood with many hours spent there and am reminded of the power of the humanities. I lost and found my borrowed books once again. The library is a space where I move and look outward, where I cross boundaries. Cataloguing the impact of the humanities is no small task, and the influence is far beyond a lifetime, encompassed well in the beauty of a local library.
The University Library
Summer 2020
Katie Ireland Kuiper, 29, Ph.D. Candidate
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The Solace of Libraries
For as long as I can remember I have found peace in libraries. Just the idea of them makes me smile. My earliest memory of being in a library is from when I was a young child, around four years old, in the town of Franklin, Tennessee. The War Memorial Public Library was housed in a historic Victorian house in the downtown area of what was then a small city of about ten thousand people. I remember walking into the main room and seeing a large, dark-wood desk occupied by a matronly librarian who greeted me with a friendly smile. I remember that the children’s books were in a room to the right, which was filled, floor-to-ceiling with closely spaced shelves of books and the worlds they contained. It smelled old in there and was always kind of dark, with light entering mainly through the large windows on one side of the room. This lent an air of mysteriousness and I always felt like I was on an adventure, an intrepid explorer alone among the aisles of books that dwarfed me. I remember being a little anxious and maybe even a little frightened, but I loved the feel of the books in my hand. The excitement of getting to choose a pile of them to take home, as many as I could carry, was stronger than my fears. I felt empowered.
When I reflect on it now, I realize that these trips to the library must have been just as important to my mother as they were to me. She was and still is a voracious reader, and was always in the middle of numerous books, which were scattered throughout the rooms of our house. I have always admired her ability to pick one up and read a few pages in the interstices of her busy day, grasping onto moments of escape wherever she could find them as an effectively single mother, nursing student, and homemaker in the early 1970s. There were four of us and I was the “baby” by six years, which meant that I was privileged to spend time with her and do things that she didn’t have the time to do with my older brothers and sister, who were all spaced a couple of years apart. While they were in school, we sometimes got to do special things like going to the library.
Sitting alone among the stacks, pulling a book off the shelf to see what was inside, reading some of it right there to see if it was worthy of taking home to read again and again…I still get the same excitement from it today as I did when I was four years old. That same profound sense of peace and possibility comforts me every time I enter a library, and I still do it every chance I get.
1973
Lauren Eastland, 52, PhD Candidate, University of California, Davis
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